Hard Knocks Life
by JayManney4Life
Summary: OneShot. BlutoBrutus centered. Just a bit of a look at the other side, with a tired rant from the foe and on-again and off-again chum of our favorite one-eyed sailor.


Disclaimer: I don't own Popeye, Olive Oyl, or Bluto. But you probably guessed that already, seeing how I'm way too young to have created them and don't have anywhere near the cash to buy them. 

This is just a look at the other side, more or less. A bit of a tired rant from one of the characters who gets a lot of the hard knocks. Here's to you, Bluto! You old sea dog!

ééé

His jaw hurt. His chest hurt. His teeth hurt. Everything hurt. Even his hair hurt, if that's even possible.

Brutus sighed, slapping another steak over his eye, just as he had for many, many years now. It seemed almost like clockwork at times to him: Get up in the morning, have breakfast, head out to the bar for a bit, have a nice smoke, run into Popeye and Olive Oyl, fight ensues, he gets the advantage, Popeye goes for his spinach, and Brutus ends up worse for wear.

Today had been no different. Brutus had been out for a leisurely stroll to clear his head a bit, and had ended up bumping into the two love birds. Apparently, Olive had lost her dog or something similarly unimportant, and they were out looking for whatever it was. Now Brutus, in one of his rare bursts of generousity, offered to help them out, and joined in on the little rescue mission. However, things would not go smoothly, and after smacking into one another, or one accidently causing something to do harm to the other, he and Popeye ended up in yet another one of their classic brawl for alls, until the one-eyed sailor went for his trusty spinach can and cleaned Brutus' clock, leaving him in the pain-filled state he was in now, all because he had tried to be nice to Olive Oyl.

Honestly, sometimes he wondered why he even went after a woman like her. Nothing against Olive, she was nice enough, skinny too, but she wasn't exactly going to win any beauty pageants any time soon. There were dozens, hundreds of women better looking than her, and Brutus was certain he could have any of them he wanted, yet he kept going after Olive Oyl, and kept getting pummeled by that one-eyed sailor for his troubles.

Popeye. Brutus sighed and took another drink from his mug. All things considered, the two really didn't have anything against each other. Sure, they got competitive with one another, and Brutus, being the man that he was, usually did anything in his power to outdo the runt, but he never actually hated his fellow sea man. The two had been through a few wars together, been in the army, the navy, even the air force together, had plenty of adventures with one another and their other companions, and half the time were actually quite good friends, yet whenever the woman entered the picture, all heck had a habit of breaking lose between them, and they usually ended up breaking their backs, and each other's bones more often than not, trying to impress the stick figure of the female species.

Pouring more into his glass, Brutus just shook his head. He'd thought of just calling it quits on many an occasion, packing up his things, and setting sail elsewhere, somewhere where he could just start new and not think about the muttering sea dog and his flamingo thin main squeeze, but every time he did, something just kept bringing him back there, and the cycle would just start up new.

'Maybe it's punishment,' he chuckled grimly, having another swig of the amber liquid, 'God only knows I've done enough to deserve it.'

Taking a deep breath, Brutus winced as he pushed himself up to his feet, keeping one hand on the piece of meat on his eye before walking to the ice box. Pulling the top door open, he put the meat back into the freezer before shutting the door, then started to walk to the bathroom, thinking a nice hot shower would be just what the doctor ordered.

Letting the hot water stream down on his battered and bruised body, Brutus gave a deep sigh of relief as it poured over every fiber of his being. Part of him thought he was getting way too old for this sort of thing, taking the constant beatings he did, and even thought boxers and wrestlers didn't get knocked around as constantly as he did. Then again, they were paid for their bumps, while he just took his lumps day in and day out, only complaining to himself and to no one else.

Turning the water off and grabbing his towel, Brutus stepped out of the shower and walked to the sink, deciding to brush his teeth before settling in for the night. Looking at the mug with his razor blade in it, he considered picking it up and shaving a bit, but then thought better of it. The bitter smirk returned to his lips, knowing he had no reason to clean up for at the moment, seeing how the only lady he ever went after kept getting spirited off by his ever-present rival after he gorged himself on a can of spinach.

'Spinach,' Brutus snorted, 'What makes that vegetable so tough? I could eat every other green under the sun and possibly clean out my colon, but that one-eyed squirt stuffs his face with that can of green leaves and he practically turns into Superman. Ain't that a kick in the head?'

Pulling his night shirt on over his head and donning his night cap, Brutus climbed into bed after locking things down for the night. Deciding he'd worry about spinach eating sailors and scarecrow-looking women some other time, the old lump decided that sleep would be wonderful, and hoped a night of rest would help his aching form, as it always seemed to do.

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I tend to ramble about odd things, and this just kind of came out of it from there. Hope you guys liked it.

Please Read & Review! It does my heart good to know people actually appreciate the time and effort I put into my work.

JayManney4Life


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